


The Way, the Truth and the Life

by Melanie_Athene



Series: To Err Is Human [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Humor, M/M, Post Season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard saying goodbye to Paradise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way, the Truth and the Life

It was hard saying goodbye to Paradise. Dean had a whole new respect for Adam and Eve finding themselves forced from the Blessed Realm into a life of hardship... but at least he was leaving of his own free will, and with an angel by his side. An angel who loved him.

 _Cas loves me!_ The joyous thought pulsed through Dean's brain in perfect synchronization with every beat of his heart, every breath he took.

He was doing it again. He knew he was. Dean's gaze lifted from the duffle he had just finished packing and locked on the mirror above the dresser. Yes. He was definitely grinning like a loon.

But, then, he couldn't seem to stop smiling. Couldn't help but remember that every time their eyes met, Castiel smiled in reply, sometimes the merest quirk or slight upturn of his lips, but other times... 

Ah.... other times...

Dean's breath caught in his throat as he envisioned Castiel's full-fledged smile: eyes crinkled at the corners, white teeth flashing and then – oh, God! – if Dean was lucky, dimples, honest to god dimples, would appear!

 _Guh..._ Dean thought, trying not to drool at the vivid memory. _Who knew ol' poker face had it in him?_

If Dean hadn't already fallen in love with his angel, that smile would have easily pushed him over the edge. As it was, he was a total goner. Head over heels in love. Sappy and girly be damned if it meant he felt this way. He had never thought he would. Never thought he _could_.

Never had Dean been more glad to be proven wrong. Good things _did_ happen. Against all odds they had happened to him.

Which probably meant the universe was gearing itself up to kick him in the nuts. It was a well proven fact that Winchester luck could only hold good so long... and, now that he thought about it, it had been a few days since he'd last seen that blinding smile. Was Cas already tiring of him? Not that he didn't smile, freely and often. But, sometimes, it didn't quite reach those beautiful blue eyes. Sometimes, he seemed almost... sad.

Dean's own smile faded as he turned a considering stare on his angel. Castiel was rifling through the little bookcase over by the French doors, a curious finger trailing across the spines of the books, lips silently mouthing the titles. Aimlessly, he pulled out a tattered-looking paperback and stood staring at the gaudy illustration on the cover: a busty damsel clasped in a Fabio wannabe's muscled arms. Castiel snorted softly and opened the novel to a random page.

“Cas?” Dean whispered, his voice quivering with an overflow of emotion.

Castiel glanced his way, the book he held in his hands instantly forgotten. His head tilted inquiringly.

“Cas,” Dean repeated, and suddenly found himself bereft of further words.

It didn't matter. Talking was over-rated. Too often in the past, words had only gotten in the way. Once upon a time, Castiel had asked him to have faith. He couldn't then, but now... ah, now he could. He would believe the impossible... because it was true. It had to be true.

_Cas loves me. Cas loves me._

Dean's smile returned with the brilliance of a star gone supernova.

Castiel tossed the book to the table and crossed the room in several giant strides, his trench coat swirling around his legs, hiding the sinuous shift of slim hips that Dean now knew so intimately.

“Dean,” he murmured, his lips unerringly seeking the hunter's. 

Dean's arms wrapped around the angel as he deepened the kiss. Grinding his burgeoning erection against Castiel's groin and finding an answering hardness there, he tugged his willing lover towards the bed. 

_Paradise,_ he thought giddily. _Who needs it?_

 

~*~

 

“Dean said they'd be here tonight no later than 6:30,” Bobby groused, peering into the oven at a roast that was rapidly passing well-done and approaching incinerated. “They're almost two hours late. I can't imagine what's keeping them.”

“Oh, really? Can't you?” Sam's rich chuckle drew a sudden blush to the old hunter's cheeks.

“Shaddup,” Bobby growled. “I'm fresh outta brain bleach. I don't want to go there.”

“Go where?” Castiel inquired, appearing with a rustle of invisible feathers and a gust of air that blew the hair out of Sam's eyes. A smirking Dean stood at the angel's side, close enough to touch, but nonchalantly not touching.

“Dean!”

The small duffle bag in Dean's hand hit the kitchen floor with a muffled thump as Sam enveloped his brother in a fierce bear hug.

“Whoa there, Sammy. Can't breathe,” Dean gasped.

Sam stepped back, leaving his left arm slung around Dean's neck. Casually, he draped his right arm across Castiel's shoulders and drew them both towards a heavily laden table. “Eat first, breathe later,” he suggested, and grinned. “Bobby slaughtered a fattened calf in your honour.”

“It was a damned sight fatter an hour ago,” Bobby muttered. “Thought Air Angel always ran on schedule?”

“My apologies, Bobby,” Castiel murmured, and looked as if he genuinely meant it. “Dean... That is, Dean and I... We were... uh... detained. Unavoidably delayed.”

“Is that what you kids are calling it these days?” Sam said blithely as he motioned for the guests of honour to seat themselves.

 _“Sam...”_ Dean warned.

Sam grinned unrepentantly. “Ah, come on, Dean,” he wheedled. “You gotta give me this one. Just think of all you'd have to say if the shoe were on the other foot.”

“Why would Dean put a shoe on the incorrect foot? Even had he attempted to dress himself in the dark, he would have felt a difference in the shoe's curvature.” Castiel swivelled in his chair to face Dean. “Or did Sam mean that you might have mistakenly put on my shoe in your haste to get dressed after we made l– ?”

 _“Cas!”_ Dean buried his face in both hands. “It's. Just. An. Expression.”

“It is a wonder,” Castiel sniffed disdainfully, “that you humans manage to communicate at all.”

Dean's head lifted and he stared intently into the angel's eyes, a deep furrow creasing his brow.

“Ahhh.” Castiel's expression softened. “There. See. Now _that_ I understood.”

“What did he say?” Sam asked, trying his best not to laugh and spill the plates of food he was carrying.

“Shut up, Cas,” Castiel and Dean replied in unison.

 

~*~

 

The meal consumed, the table cleared, dishes washed and dried, Sam and Dean drifted to the study, drinks in hand, leaving Castiel and Bobby to finish putting everything back in cupboards and drawers, the low rumble of their voices a soothing background noise. It sounded like a pretty animated discussion, English and Latin interspersed with Enochian. Dean smiled, glad to hear his lover and surrogate father conversing so easily. It was good to be back home.

“You look good, Dean,” Sam said, tipping his glass back and draining the final few drops. “The tan suits you.”

“Angel mojo.” Dean grinned, holding his arms out to better display their burnished glow. “You know I just burn and freckle.”

“So, what, you're one giant freckle now?”

“Something like that,” Dean admitted, a sly smile flitting across his face. “Let's just say I don't have a tan line.”

“That's more than I needed to know,” Sam gave a mock shiver.

“A tan does not mean the freckles are gone,” Castiel said, following Bobby into the study and settling himself on the sofa beside Dean. “I assure you, they are all still there. I have counted them many times.”

“You've... counted them?” Sam said, vastly amused. “And what's the tally, Cas?”

“On his face alone, two hundred forty-five. In total, if you include the ones on his – ”

Dean bumped his elbow into Castiel's ribs. Hard. “A lot,” he said firmly. “I have a lot of freckles. Let's leave it at that. And you, Cas, obviously have far too much time on your hands.” 

“This is true,” Castiel admitted thoughtfully. “You do spend a lot of time sleeping, Dean.”

“So you fill the hours freckle counting?” Dean's jaw dropped. “Staring at me? That's... that's kinda creepy. I'm sure you could put that time to better use.”

“But then I would not be there if you should awaken and feel the urge to – ”

“If you say 'copulate', you're spending the night on the sofa,” Dean warned.

Castiel's mouth snapped shut.

And Sam fell out of his chair, laughing.

 

~*~

 

It was long after midnight when the easy chatter which had filled the room thinned to sporadic comments, and the occasional yawn.

“Bedtime,” Bobby announced. “You idjits stay up if you want, but I have a hunt planned for tomorrow. I'm off to bed.” 

“What are you hunting, Bobby?” Dean said. “Need a hand?”

“It's just a simple clean up of a vamp nest out Mitchell way, but you're more than welcome to tag along.”

“Sounds like fun.” Dean rubbed his palms together. “It'll feel good to get back in the game.”

“Game starts at sunrise,” Bobby advised. “And I ain't hangin' around while you lollygag in bed.”

“In that case...” Dean stood and extended a hand to Castiel. “We'd best get our lollygagging done tonight.”

Castiel's eyes slowly tracked from Dean's hand to Sam to Bobby and back to Dean's hand again.

“Coming, Cas?” Dean said softly.

Castiel tangled his fingers with Dean's and rose to his feet. “Yes,” he said, shooting a sideways glance at an open-mouthed Sam and Bobby. “Goodnight?” he offered awkwardly.

“G'nite, Cas. G'nite, Dean,” Sam replied. Bobby nodded, and then both men watched in silence as Dean detoured to pick up the dropped duffle bag before he and Castiel climbed the stairs, still hand in hand.

“You didn't have to do that,” Castiel whispered as the bedroom door closed behind them with a surprisingly loud snick of the latch. A slight tug on their linked hands brought Dean around closer, until his breath caressed the angel's face.

“Yes. I did,” Dean stated firmly. “We're together now, Cas. No sneaking around. No pretending we're just good buddies. I love you and I don't care who knows it. I don't care if they know what we do.”

“Dean. Dean I – ” 

“You're mine,” Dean growled. “God Himself gave us His blessings. How's that go? _What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.”_

 _“And they twain shall be one flesh: so then they are no more twain, but one,”_ Castiel's deep voice rumbled.

 _“Forsaking all others,”_ Dean purred, twining himself around his angel.

 _“I will love you and honour you all the days of my life,”_ Castiel murmured, and pressed his lips to the human's.

“Whoa...” Dean whispered in the brief pause between one kiss ending and the next beginning. “I think we just got hitched, Cas.”

“No, Dean,” Castiel said. “We simply made manifest our vows. The actual marriage took place on Motu Tetaraire when we consummated our bond.”

“Oh... Well, in that case, I'm really glad I phoned ahead and had Sam make a few arrangements,” Dean said hoarsely.

“Arrangements for what?” Castiel inquired without a vestige of real interest, single-mindedly attempting to strip Dean of his clothes as he backed him towards the bed.

“For this,” Dean replied, reaching beneath his pillow and pulling out the handful of plastic cards and two engraved silver bands that were waiting there.

Castiel stared at the matching rings and swallowed. “D-Dean?” he stammered.

“I know gold is traditional but, given the life we lead, silver is infinitely more practical. Anyway, it's the thought that counts.” Dean gently gathered the angel's left hand in both of his. “I hope it fits,” he fretted, carefully sliding the band home and smilingly handing its mate over to Castiel so the bemused angel could slip it on Dean's finger in turn. And then he pressed the little stack of cards into Castiel's right hand.

“What is this?” Castiel asked, sparing the cards a cursory glance. “A driver's license? Credit cards? Dean, I don't understand. I already have a more than adequate supply of fake documentation.”

“Look again,” Dean said quietly. “This lot is as real as we could make it.”

Castiel's eyes dropped back down to the cards. His lips shaped the words _Castiel Winchester,_ but not a sound escaped save a breathless little _"Oh...”_

Dean's smile widened.

“Oh,” Castiel repeated more loudly. And a third time: “Oh...” Reverently, he placed his new identity on the nightstand, reaching out with both hands to cradle Dean's face between his warm palms. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you... beloved.”

Dean's fingers teased the buttons open on Castiel's shirt and his hand slipped inside until it came to rest on his handprint. In reply, Castiel's hand slid up the sleeve of Dean's T-shirt and firmly locked in place on his mark.

“Care to join me for a little wedded bliss, Mr. Winchester?” Dean grinned and nodded towards the bed.

Castiel's head canted meaningfully towards the thin wall separating Dean's bedroom – their bedroom! – from Sam's and Bobby's rooms.

Dean chuckled and toppled him onto the bed. “They'll just have to cope, won't they?” he said.

Castiel's reply was lost, devoured by a hungry kiss.

 

~*~

 

Bobby refused to make eye contact when Dean thundered down the stairs the next morning, precisely twenty minutes before sunrise. Castiel followed closely on his heels, trench coat flapping behind him and his necktie even more askew than usual. Sam glanced up as they entered the kitchen, sharp eyes instantly focusing on the vivid purple bruise decorating Dean's neck. Wisely, he hid his smile behind the newspaper before his brother had time to transfer a defiant glare his way.

Castiel calmly set about pouring coffee for himself and Dean, then crossed the room to refill Sam and Bobby's empty cups.

"Thanks," Bobby muttered. "Hope you aren't expecting a big tip."

"I think Dean has tipping covered," Sam teased. “As to whether or not it's big...”

Bobby choked on his drink. Dean slammed his plate down on the table, 

"Really, Sam?" he groaned. _"Really?_ That's how it's gonna be?"

"For the foreseeable future? Yeah. That's how it's gonna be. Do you have any idea how... um... enthusiastic you two were last night?" Sam grimaced, his face scrunching up in a moue of distaste as he recalled sticking fingers in his ears in a vain attempt to muffle his brother and the angel's pornographic moans.

"I did warn you, Dean," Castiel said quietly. "You said they'd just have to cope."

"So this is me, coping." Sam shrugged. " _You_ cope with _that,_ Dean."

Swift strides carried Dean around the table, and Sam flinched in anticipation of a blow that never came. Instead, Dean captured Castiel's face between his hands and deposited a passionate kiss on the surprised angel's parted lips.

"Mmph... mmmm," Castiel said, quickly getting with the program and eagerly responding. 

Loud, wet, smacking noises ensued.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," Bobby moaned. "Sam, shut the fuck up, will ya?"

 _"Me?"_ Sam cried, genuinely outraged. "I'm not the one currently sucking on an angel's tonsils!"

"But you're the one who started it," Bobby sighed. "They were behaving themselves until you opened your big mouth. I can live with my house rattling like a freight train's passing through. I can live with wearing earplugs to bed every night. But I definitely don't need these... visuals. Face it, Sam, Dean comes out on top this time."

"Actually," Castiel said helpfully, "we take turns topping."

Bobby dropped his face into his hands.

"TMI, Cas," Dean chuckled, releasing his lover with an affectionate pat on the trench coat clad ass and seating himself at the table to gulp down his cooling breakfast.

Sam quietly rose from his chair, placed his dirty dishes in the sink, and hastened off to load their gear in the car.

"So..." Bobby said uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. "About those vamps we're going after..."

 

~*~

 

Everything that could go wrong on a hunt, did. From the flat tire a few miles down the road, to the embarrassing realization that, in a dyslexic moment, Bobby had written the address down incorrectly. To top it off, instead of finding a den containing two or three vamps, there were closer to three dozen jam-packed in the tiny farmhouse they had appropriated as their own. And instead of being somnolent, complacently relaxed after a busy night of feeding, these vampires were still wide awake. High on the thrill of the stolen blood coursing through their veins, they lost no time in launching a deadly counter-attack when their vigilant sentry sounded the alarm.

 _Good thing for Bobby we tagged along,_ Dean had time to think, before he found himself fending off and beheading a vampire intent on tearing out his throat.

A quick glance showed Sam similarly engaged in combat and more than holding his own against a bevy of fang-faced harpies. Bobby's shotgun sounded repeatedly, offering cover as Dean and Sam methodically battled their way across the room. Castiel vanished to the basement, claiming he sensed the presence of injured humans and would see to the vampires holding them prisoner there.

Apparently, that was the break the remaining vampires were waiting for. The disappearance of the powerful angel rallied their flagging spirits and inspired them to a last ditch effort to kill before they were killed.

 _I fucking hate vampires,_ Dean thought, taking a giant step forward to meet the headlong rush of two very determined vamps. And that is when his foot slipped in a puddle of blood and he went crashing to his knees. The blade he held went skittering across the floor...

“Dean!” Sam shouted, risking his own well-being in favour of coming to his brother's aid. 

Dean rolled to his left, retrieving his weapon and scrambling to his feet in time to dispatch the grinning vampire swaggering its way up to him. From the corner of his eye he saw several more vampires pouring up from the basement in a frantic bid to escape an angel's wrath.

“Cas!” he shouted, “Cas! Get your feathery ass back up here. We're outnumbered!”

Just as the angel appeared in answer to the summons, the largest of the vampires, a burly mountain of a man, came up behind Dean and grabbed him for use as a shield against the other hunters' persistent attacks. A cold, dead tongue flicked up the side of the Dean's neck, dancing teasingly over his carotid artery.

“Mmm,” the goliath sighed, crushing the human between his massive paws. “You taste as pretty as you look.”

Dean elbowed him in the gut to no avail.

A sudden, deafening crack of thunder failed to mask the growl that ripped its way from Castiel's throat. Dean thought he saw the flickering shadow of giant, ebony wings unfurling – or maybe he was simply blacking out from asphyxiation. In either case, the next thing he knew, he was drenched in copious amounts of vampire blood and clutched to a berserk angel's heaving breast. A tiny burble of laughter escaped Dean's lips as his mind flashed back to the lurid cover of the novel Castiel had perused before they left Tahiti. _Their love defied Heaven and Hell,_ he silently chortled, his shoulders shaking with either an adrenaline rush, or a pending attack of hysteria at being cast in the role of the girl.

The remaining vampires shot disbelieving looks at their disintegrated comrade and unanimously decided discretion was the better part of valour. As one, they turned tail and ran, scattering in several different directions. Explosive little _poofs_ and further spatters of body bits followed in the wake of Castiel's relentless glare. Not a vampire survived the massacre.

Sam swiped a hand across his face, dislodging the worst of the grisly fallout. "Uh..." he offered, obviously at a loss for words. "Uh... Cas?"

Castiel growled again, and Sam held up his empty hands in the universal gesture of surrender.

"Whoa there, tiger," Dean murmured, placing his left palm flat against Castiel's chest.

Castiel blinked and his overly bright gaze dimmed to its usual brilliant shade of blue as he transferred his stare to Dean. The hunter could feel Castiel vibrating under his touch. An almost audible hum tickled his ears, making his fingertips tingle and the scar on his arm pulse in rhythm with the angel's racing heartbeat. Without breaking eye contact, Dean fished in his pocket for the car keys and tossed them in the general direction of his brother.

"We'll meet you back at Bobby's," he said, his voice almost as gravel-toned as Castiel's. "Take your time getting there."

With a final snarl of agreement and a furious snap of invisible wings, they were gone.

 

~*~

 

Dean's brain barely had time to register the fact that they were upstairs at Bobby's before the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed and he was unceremoniously tumbled to the mattress. Castiel followed him down, covering Dean with his body, the trench coat billowing over them both, creating a cozy little nest for two. Castiel's tongue licked wide swaths up Dean's neck, eradicating any lingering trace of the vampire's saliva, his teeth nipping, lips suckling, leaving a trail of red marks in their wake.

“Mine,” Castiel growled. “Mine. He had no right... no right...”

Dean didn't bother to search for reassuring words. Instinctively, he knew a better way. His hand slipped to its mark on the angel's arm. Castiel mirrored the motion, his fingers gripping his mark in return, biting deep into Dean's flesh as if trying to worm their way through the layers of cloth separating them. Castiel flung his head back in obvious rapture as they connected, their bond amplifying every sensation; each touch, each kiss compounding their desire.

Dean...” Castiel moaned, the name rumbling from his lips as an echoing grumble sounded outside in a clear, blue sky. “Dean,” he repeated, as the air around his shoulders shivered and shifted.

Dean stared in awe as Castiel's wings burst forth. An accompanying crack of thunder and a sudden explosive cascade of breaking glass resounded throughout the house.

Dean's hands sought the dark mass of feathers that caressed his suddenly nude body, tickled his nose, and even found their way into his gaping mouth. An equally naked angel pressed against the human, moaning and writhing as Dean's fingers tentatively explored the wonder of his wings.

“Yes,” he panted. “Touch me. Yes! _There!”_

Dean's fingers tightened, anchoring themselves to where the wings were thickest: at the base, where they erupted from Castiel's back.

“I want you,” Castiel whispered, the blue in his eyes intensifying with each stroke Dean gave; each ruffle of feathers making his wings fan and flex, his breathing grow shallower, his pulse quicken. “Need you. Need to...”

“Yes,” Dean murmured. “Yes, Cas. Yes.”

With the cursory swipe of magically lubed fingers and an indecipherable mumble of Enochian words, Castiel spread Dean's thighs wider, tilted his ass to a more accommodating angle and plunged inside: his thrusts deep, erratic, wild in a way he had never before allowed himself for fear of hurting his lover... his mate... his... his...

A high, keening note escaped Castiel and the bedroom window shattered: raining down onto the well-worn carpet, bright diamonds of broken glass sparkling in the afternoon sun. 

Dean's hands slid limply down from Castiel's wings, falling open on the bed, palms up-turned as if in supplication. Castiel's fingers dug more harshly into Dean's unresisting shoulders, forcing him deeper into the mattress as the angel's hips rocked faster, harder, his cock catching Dean's prostate with every urgent thrust. Ruthless hands slid further down the human's splayed arms, clutching each wrist in an iron-tight grip as Castiel's thrusts increased in tempo, his body impacting with Dean's with enough force to smack the hunter's skull against the headboard. The bed frame rattled in protest, small items on the nightstand wobbling madly before they went crashing to the floor.

Wrapped in a haze of pleasure, Dean heard more than felt the crack of breaking bone as both wrists snapped under the pressure of Castiel's unleashed angelic strength. His delayed howl of pain mixed with Castiel's cry of ecstasy as the angel succumbed to his climax, his triumphant scream of release preceded by the rushed and breathless command: “Dean! Close your eyes!”

Green eyes slammed shut just as Castiel's voice achieved a note too pure, too true, to be safely perceived by a mortal. Slivers of incandescent white light seeped in under tightly closed lids, detonating answering starbursts deep in the human's brain. Dean bit his own kiss-swollen bottom lip until it bled, matching trickles of blood dribbling from his ears to stain the pillowcase as Castiel finally ceased his unearthly cry and collapsed upon Dean's chest, his wings buffeting the room, sweeping the few remaining items off the nightstand before knocking the table itself over on its side.

“Mmgh,” Dean offered in protest, breath crushed from his straining lungs, the taste of copper and ozone heavy on his tongue. A sudden decompression hit his lungs as if every molecule of oxygen had been sucked from the room. Dean fought the feeling, his chest heaving in great gulps of air. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. He felt blackness gnaw at the edges of his vision, the blue of Castiel's eyes the only colour left in the universe.

“Cas!” Dean gasped, and came harder than he could ever remember coming in his entire life, painting his stomach and the angel's chest with great, white, sticky ribbons.

Dean's pride denied he was doing anything so cliché as passing out from a mind-blowing orgasm but, nonetheless, a manly swoon sent him plummeting towards oblivion, Castiel's frantic cry of “Dean? Dean?” fading into a silent well of ink-black nothingness.

 

~*~

 

 _The blue is back,_ was Dean's first thought upon regaining consciousness. Slowly, the rest of Castiel's worried face swam into view, accompanied by a flood of aches and pains that had cheerfully been ignored in the throes of passion. His wrists throbbed, his ribs protested his every breath. Blood smeared Castiel's trembling hands when he slid them from Dean's poor, abused ears to caress his cheeks.

“I could have killed you,” Castiel whispered, tears flooding his eyes. One lonely drop trickled down his cheek, dripped off his chin and splattered onto Dean's face. “Dear Holy Father,” he moaned. “Forgive me, Dean. Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“Hey,” Dean wheezed. “You beat the living shit out of me once upon a time. Remember? I think I can forgive a little love tap this time 'round.”

“That was different.” Gentle hands stroked his ears, his chest, his wrists, leaving a healing warmth in their wake as bones and torn tissue mended “That was... before. That was... controlled. Deliberately meted out. But this, oh this...” Castiel's sandpaper-rough voice trailed into silence, all the love and remorse he felt clearly written on his face.

“But this?” Dean prompted, when it became apparent the angel wasn't going to continue.

“I could have killed you,” Castiel repeated numbly, staring at his hands as if destruction was all they knew.

“But what a way to go,” Dean quipped.

“It's not funny, Dean!” Castiel shouted, his patience strained past all limits. “Don't you understand? I lost control. I – an angel – lost control. I lost myself in you... and I almost lost you in the process.”

“It's all right,” Dean soothed. “I know you'd bring me back.”

“It is not _all right,”_ Castiel said fiercely. “This should never have happened. I should never have allowed it to happen.”

“Look, Cas, don't beat yourself up. Okay? There are two of us in this bed. You didn't hear me say stop, now did you?”

“I'm not sure I could have stopped had you requested it of me. I – I'm sorry, Dean, but I have to go. I have to think about this.”

“Go? No, Cas, don't do that. We can talk it out. We can – ”

But Dean was speaking to an empty room. The angel had already fled.

“Fuck,” Dean said softly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

That seemed to sum up the situation nicely.


End file.
